"Why," I answered, "to me she seems a perfect walking gratitude; in real life she would be rather dog-like, I'm afraid; but in the play she is just beautiful."
He looked solemnly at me, and then he said: "And you are just beautiful, too, for you are a little thinking actress. Now if you have the power of expressing what you think, do you know I am very honestly interested, 'just Clara,' in your share of to-night's work."
The play went well as a whole, and as Marie is one of the most tenderly pathetic creations conceivable, I sat and wept as I told her story; but imagine my amazement when, as Mr. Barrett bent over my hand, a great hot tear fell from his cheek upon it.
"Oh, my girl," he said, when the play was over, "don't let anything on God's footstool dishearten you. Work! work! you have such power, such delicacy of expression with it—you are Marie, the little stupidly religious, dog-like 'Marie the resigned,' that you have renamed for me 'Marie the grateful.'"
When I was leading woman he wished to do that play for a single night. Of course Marco belonged to me, but the big, handsome, cold-voiced second woman could well talk through Marco, while she would (artistically speaking) damn Marie. Mr. Barrett was very hungry-eyed, there was positive famine in them, as he mournfully said: "I would give a great deal to hear you tell Marie's story again—to see you and your little bundle and bandaged foot. Such a clever touch that—that bandaged foot, no other Marie dares do that; but you have turned your back on the 'grateful one'; you can't afford to do her again."
"Mr. Barrett," I asked, "do you wish me to play Marie now?"
"Do I wish it?" he echoed, "I wish it with all my heart, but I have no right to ask a sacrifice from you even if it would benefit the whole performance, as well as give me a personal pleasure."
"If the manager does not object," I said, "I am quite willing to give up the leading part and play Marie again."
He held my hands, he fairly stammered for a moment, then he said: "You are an artiste and a brave and generous girl. I shall remember this action of yours, 'just Clara,' always."
The amazed manager, after some objection, having consented, I once more put on the rusty black gown, took my small bundle, and asked of the gay ladies from Paris my way to the convent, yonder—finding in the tears of the audience and the excellence of the general performance, full reward for playing second fiddle that evening.